More Precious than a Silmaril
by KnHime-2
Summary: (Female Sam au.) "Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam."
1. Truly Precious

_**Important disclaimer. **_

_Alright, before people start throwing things at me let's get one thing straight. _

_I love Samwise, exactly the way he is, and the dynamics of all his relationships. Also, even if given the chance, I wouldn't change one single detail of either the books or the films. I'm just having fun. Just one of those "What if…?" Thingamabobs. I also don't really have anything against slash fanfics; personally, they just don't do it for me. _

_I did not come up with this idea on my own: I read another fanfic called "The Baths", by EithneCeana. I fell in love with the concept. (Warning; if you plan to read it, it's a lemon ficlet.)_

* * *

><p>Softness. That was the first thing she was aware of, surrounding softness. No sounds, no smells, no sights, just warm soft, mellow darkness.<p>

The last thing she remembered was heat: Not just warm-summer- afternoon heat, but scorching winds, mountain ash searing her lungs, where the air itself scalded and burned. She remembered being surrounded by molten rock and thinking that this was surely, truly, the end.

They were both going to die. After everything.

But Frodo _did _it.

He was free. All of Middle Earth was free from the shadow cast over it for countless lifetimes.

Sadly the two of them would not see it. They would not see their friends sing in joy and the darkness flee. And yet, there were worse ways to go, all things considered, than dying whilst you cling to your dearest friend.

_I'm glad you're with me Sam… here at the end of all things. _

She was glad too.

She was glad that Gandalf caught her eavesdropping and insisted she accompany the master of Bag End on his dangerous journey, neither of them realizing just how perilous and intense it would become. She was glad to be there when he needed rescuing, first from the Nazgul, then from the spider, then from Cirith Ungol.

She was glad to keep him from dying alone on the slope of Mount Doom.

For he had surely died as well. An oliphaunt couldn't have survived such circumstances, let alone two weary little hobbits.

She would miss everyone, and they would miss her and Frodo, but they were _free. _And that was all that mattered.

While she was here, she might as well open her eyes and see what the afterlife looked like.

It took more effort than she expected, and the first thing that clouded into her vision was whiteness. It was so bright she had to close her eyes again.

At that moment, she became aware of the certain, comfortably familiar smell of pipe-weed.

Did folk have access to pipes and pipe-weed in the afterlife?

She managed to crack her lids open in increments, adjusting them to the soft white of her surroundings. Her vision blurred then cleared, wandering around, taking in what she could.

She fallowed the direction of the smoke, her gaze catching a surprisingly dark figure, large and slouched in a chair beside the bead on which she lay. Her vision grew clearer and she saw the person sitting in what appeared to be thoughtful silence, puffing intermittently on the pipe, unaware that she was awake.

The face looked familiar; like someone she had not seen in quite some time.

"Strider?"

Her voice came in a faint rasp. Yet he heard, and surprised, he turned to her, pulling the pipe from his smiling mouth. "Good Marrow, Samantha Gamgee! It's so good to see you awake!"

Her spirits fell. "You're here too?" She asked. Not that she wasn't glad to see him again, but in the circumstances…

"That I am." He looked amused by her question. "Though, you don't seem pleased about it."

Sam opened her mouth to say that of _course _she wasn't pleased that he was here and dead, but then the wheels turned in her head. She noted his words and actions, she remembered the bleariness of her eyes, and realized the aches and stiffness of her joints.

She was under the assumption that the hereafter was a place free of all pains and ails. Of course, it wasn't like anyone had gone there then come back to report it.

She finally asked. "Aragorn, where exactly _are _we?"

He smiled warmly and pressed her hand with his much larger one. "We are in Minas Tirith, Mistress Hobbit."

Her jaw went slack. "The White City?"

"Yes. Did you think you had passed on, Miss Gamgee?"

"Well, begging your pardon Aragorn sir, but it would've taken nothing short of a miracle to save me and…"

She gasped, eyes wide, bolted upright. "Frodo! I almost forgot! Where is he?!"

The ranger quickly placed his pipe on the bedside table and leaned forward to place both hands gently but firmly on her shoulders to hold her in place. "Be at ease Mistress Hobbit: Frodo is nearby, alive and well and resting." He assured.

Giving a gusty sigh of relief she lay back. "Oh, thank heavens." She murmured. "I was so sure we were both goners." She lifted her head, the obvious question finally striking her. "How _are _we alive in the first place?"

He smiled again. "As you said, it took a miracle: The King of the Eagles, who has helped Gandalf in many times of need, was sent with one of his subjects to find you both when the mountain erupted. They both returned with one hobbit each."

"Eagles!" She shook her head. "Just like what happened to Master Bilbo! I would've liked to see that. And I slept right through it!"

"It _was_ a sight." Aragorn concurred. His face grew somber. "You were both in need of healing, but our dear Frodo was in worse condition than you. He was weak from undernourishment, and his left forefinger was severed at the middle joint." The look he gave Sam indicated that he suspected all too well what caused this injury.

She lowered her gaze into her lap, staring bleakly at her folded hands. The memory of perhaps the worst moment in her life bringing a heavy coldness in her stomach.

"It had him" She stated.

There was only understanding silence at Strider's end, so she continued.

"He was in its thrall: completely and utterly…" She shook her head as if to dissipate the images that would surely haunt her, of his words spoken in a menacing voice, of the dark smile and cold stare he gave her as he slipped the ring on his finger.

"He was going to keep it, Strider! He actually put it on and tried to sneak away from me like a thief! For a few minutes the Frodo Baggins I'd known for years was gone! Why, I don't know where we'd be had that wretched creature Gollum… not… come and…" She trailed off, realization coming clear and bright.

She was silent for a moment, then to Aragorn's great puzzlement, the little she-hobbit suddenly burst into hysterical laughter.

It took a moment for her to form words. "He did it: That _thing_ saved all of Middle Earth! He wanted the ring and bit Frodo's finger clean off to get it!" She laughed again.

"This amuses you?"

"Not so much as… oh goodness! Frodo wanted … tried… to give the miserable creature another chance, and I was so bullheaded about him being a great big liar. And here I am… alive because he fell into the fires of Mount Doom and took the bloomin' ring with him!"

"I wondered what became of Gollum." Aragorn nodded, once her laughter dissipated. "He'd been following us before we disbanded."

Sam sighed, then asked. "Who sent the eagles in the first place?"

"Gandalf did. He's probably with Frodo as we speak."

She blinked, giving a start. "Did I mishear you… or did you say…?'

"That's right!" Aragorn remembered. "You didn't know."

"Know what?" Excitement rose in her chest.

"Gandalf is alive, and more powerful than ever before." The ranger beamed.

Her jaw practically fell to her lap. "But… but we saw him fall to his death!"

"No." Strider corrected gently. "We merely saw him fall."

Happy tears threatened to spill, more laughter coming from her mouth. "This is too good to be true: All of this!"

Aragorn only smiled in agreement.

* * *

><p>Frodo did not expect to awake, much less to the sight of an old and very dear friend, one he thought he'd lost.<p>

His first thoughts were that this was impossible.

Gandalf was dead. But then wasn't _he?_

Then the door burst open and his two cousins came bounding in, very much alive and happy to see him.

He was smothered in the hugs of his kin, warmed by the bright gaze of Gandalf, and there was more to come.

He watched with relief as Gimli, Legolas, then Aragorn stepped in, their grins heavy with gratitude.

His joy and love for his friends washed over him. But where was…?

Finally, a small figure stepped quietly in. A feminine figure, looking tired, freckled face raw from the scorching winds, yet she smiled when he met her gaze.

Warm gratitude and affection joined the plethora of emotions.

All was well.

* * *

><p>"Wait: you mean she carried you all the way up the mountain?!"<p>

"Well, not _all_ the way, but still…"

"I could only do it because you'd had nothing to eat for days and were naught but skin and bones!"

Once Frodo had regained enough strength for visits, the four hobbits gathered and exchanged their tales of what happened to them after their separation. It was currently his and Sam's turn and he was getting to the part about reaching the fires of the volcano.

"Still," Merry put in. "Not many a lass can claim to hoist a fellow up onto her shoulders and carry him a ways up a mountain." He nodded to Sam in admiration.

Humble soul that she was, Sam only flushed and said. "Well, I think Eowyn might've done such a thing." This earned a chuckle from the others. She and Frodo had shortly been introduced to the lady of Rohan, among many others; both took an instant liking to her, and vice-versa.

"Perhaps." Frodo said with a smile that seemed almost playful. "But would she have rescued someone from a ravenous, oliphaunt-sized spider?"

"It wasn't _that_ big."

"It was big enough."

"Eowyn killed the Witch-King! I just stabbed an overgrown arachnid; didn't even kill the beast."

"Had you not driven it off," He countered, "The One Ring and I would now be in its belly."

"Eeeucchh!" Pippin shuddered at the thought.

The two of them continued, back and forth, in their own accounts of the story, finally ending with Gollum biting the ring of Frodo's finger and falling in the fire, the two hobbits just barely escaping with their hair singed.

Merry and Pippin's eyes went to and fro between them, looking at whoever was speaking. It seemed that every other sentence was to praise the other, only for the receiver to deny that they were so special and insisting that the other was far more courageous. They laughed over the more amusing memories or shared jokes, and there were moments when they seemed to forget that they had an audience instead of just the two of them.

At some point, Merry and Pippin glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, and exchanged knowing smirks.

* * *

><p>Aragorn was crowned at the end of the month. A Gondor coronation was quite an event.<p>

The four hobbits were given new clothes in the colors and manner of shire folk, but in far finer material than either had worn before. Sam made the others laugh when she commented on how nice it was to be wearing a dress again, having traded the one she wore on departing from the Shire with more functional trousers and a shirt before leaving Rivendale.

During The feasts and fanfare, Frodo would catch glimpses of Aragorn and Arwen, seeing the open adoration for each other made him feel glad for his friend, and also a little wistful.

As the festivities continued the rest of the day, Sam and Frodo hardly left each other's side. Like the earth and the moon, one always orbited the other, never straying too far for too long. This little detail did not go unnoticed by their friends. In fact, while talking with Gimli, the dwarf gave a chuckle out of nowhere.

"Isn't it a thing of beauty?" He said.

"What is?" Frodo asked.

Gimli motioned to the two of them. "The fact that you two aren't sick and tired of each other: nothing short of a little miracle, if you ask me."

For some reason, Frodo felt heat rise to his face, and a glance at his female companion saw that she had an uncomfortable expression.

"What… what's so incredible about that? It's not as though you're sick of Legolas and Strider." Samantha pointed out in an unsteady voice.

"Don't be too sure of that Lass." The dwarf guffawed. "'Sides, we're not acting like we're tied together with an invisible thread, unlike you and Master Baggins."

Sam adopted the expression of a little hobbit child caught with its hand in the cookie jar. "I…" she ducked her head and headed off to her left, muttering, "I think I forgot something…". Frodo and Gimli watched in bewilderment as she disappeared into the crowd of big folk.

"Did I say something stupid?' Gimli asked "Didn't mean to offend the wee lass."

Frodo wasn't sure what to say. "I'm certain it's nothing."

* * *

><p>Frodo decided that Sam probably wanted breathing space, so decided to let her alone for a while. He walked around, talking to the curious citizens of Gondor who'd heard so much about him, meeting up with those he knew and exchanging a word or joke.<p>

After an hour, he felt the need for some quiet, so he ducked into an arbor, walking along the dappled moonlight with his hands stuffed into his pockets and enjoying the pleasant scent of leaves growing.

His right hand automatically felt around the pocket, and its emptiness brought a tiny brief swell of panic.

_No. _he reminded himself. _It's gone. You don't want it back. You __don't_.

But in spite of his attempts to convince himself otherwise, he knew deep in his heart that he _did_ want it back. In spite of all it had done to him, even looking back on the twisted perversion of his former self he had almost become in such short time, a part of him felt empty without it, feeling naked without the circlet of gold.

It was done with, but its affects were not.

His reverie was broken by a soft and familiar voice.

The Lady Arwen was nearby, speaking earnestly to someone. For a moment he assumed, based on the location that she was having a private moment with Aragorn and he was prepared to leave. But her tone and inflection was not one of romantic intimacy, but simple conversation.

Curiosity prickled him and he fallowed the sound down the corridor of stone and vine.

He turned a corner and saw the elf maid seated a few yards away on a stone bench, speaking to the one person he'd been trying _not_ to think about for the last hour or so.

But, heavens, she looked so endearing at this moment.

In spite of all the things they'd seen, and all the elves they'd met, including this one, Sam remained utterly fascinated and captivated by the luminous beings. Though Frodo couldn't hear quite what the princess was saying, Sam listened, eyes wide and shining, hanging on to every word, like the hobbit children did whenever Bilbo would tell them about this adventure.

He was unable to stop the smile growing on his face, or the warm swell of affection in his chest. Seeing the two women together, side-by-side, proved something he'd already secretly suspected for several months now: Samantha Gamgee was every bit as lovely as the Elvish maiden. But in vastly different ways.

Arwen's beauty was both subtle and arresting, immediate, like moonlight. Sam's was one that you did not notice immediately, but had to observe and spend time with her to see, and Frodo had spent plenty of time. Sam's loveliness was like the sun shining through autumn leaves.

It reminded him of home. It reminded him of the Shire.

Many things about Sam reminded him of the Shire, when he thought of it. Not merely because she was a hobbit like himself, but little details made him think of the things he missed. Her blond hair reminded him of the grain that sprouted from the soil in years past, her faint freckles reminded him of the stars he used to gaze up at while lounging in the grass on summer evenings, her brown eyes harkened to the rich soil where the hobbits of countless generations had grown their food. But the thing he liked the most about her appearance was the set of her mouth, a feature that was unique and completely _her._

He only wished he could have noticed all this much sooner.

Soon though, a smile curled at the corners of Arwen's mouth and she slowly turned to look at him, as if she'd known he would be there, and he almost smacked a hand to his forehead for forgetting that her elf's-hearing meant she probably heard him coming before he knew the two of them were there.

Sam craned her neck to see him. He almost expected her to shuffle away like she had earlier, but was relieved when she instead gave him that little lopsided grin and spoke in a teasing voice, "Are we at the point of spyin' now, Mister Frodo?"

He smiled back at them both. "Forgive me dear ladies; I didn't mean to intrude. I was walking along and heard the Lady Arwen's voice."

"Samantha and I were just telling each other of our childhoods." The princess said. "I was recalling a joke my brother Elladan played as a child at the expense of my father's counselor, Erestor."

The idea that lofty and dignified elves played jokes like Merry and Pippin, even as children, was an odd one to him.

"But I am afraid I must be off and bid you both good evening." The elven maid rose, giving the she-hobbit one more smile. "I will finish my story at some future time, if you wish to hear the end."

"Oh of course! I'd like nothing better, your Ladyship!" Sam piped.

Arwen nodded to them both and whisked away. Sam gave a distant sigh.

"I feel so tiny compared to the likes of her." She said with a faraway smile. "Like a mouse standing beside a swan. And you know something? I don't mind it one bit."

Frodo hopped onto the bench beside her. "You've always had a humble spirit." He told her.

Sam brushed some dust from her green skirt. "I'm sorry for just taking off like I did, earlier. Something about what Gimli said made me feel… I don't know…."

"I felt it too." Frodo assured her. "Uncomfortable is the best sort of description I can give it."

Her eyebrows crinkled together in concern, mouth pursed slightly in the way he'd grown to love. "I didn't upset him, did I?"

"He was more worried about upsetting _you_." He informed the lass. "He always becomes a perfect gentleman whenever a lady is concerned."

"Bless him." She responded.

He shot her a grin. "Your problem, Samantha, is that you're sometimes too tenderhearted for your own good."

"I can be rude when the situation calls for it." Sam retorted crossing her arms. "Remember when we left Bree?"

"Ah yes." He nodded with a chuckle. "You threw your half-eaten apple at that Bill Ferny bloke when he was jeering at us and hit him right square in the nose. Quite surprised me, if you must know."

"I'm a bit ashamed of it though." She admitted.

"Truly?"

She nodded. "Waste of a perfectly good apple, it was."

Frodo laughed at that. Sam felt happy that he was receiving some much needed mirth.

"If you want the truth," he told her. "A part of me was cheering you, and wishing I had the gumption to do something of that kind."

"Ah, well, perhaps next time."

"So," he began. "You and the Lady Arwen seem to have become fast friends."

The lady hobbit blushed. "I can't be too sure 'bout that; like as not she's just being polite and gracious to a star-struck little halfling."

"Nonsense! I'm sure she found you quite enchanting." _He_ certainly did.

"Well, she had the most interesting girlhood." Sam continued. "For example, the day she was born…"

Frodo didn't really listen to the story. Not that he didn't find Arwen's life interesting, but because he found the speaker even more captivating. He watched, as Sam became engrossed in the retelling, her russet eyes shining like stars reflecting off of the surface of coffee. (Being a hobbit, his thoughts would inevitably turn to things edible) Her strong, calloused hands moved to add emphasis, hands that had known work and hardship and clasped his own when he needed support. Her hair was pinned up, but a few curls still danced over her brow and behind her ears.

Yes. She was utterly captivating, and didn't even realize it.

Sam was certainly feeling more comfortable. She'd felt very silly about just running off when Gimli made a comment that made her feel as if she had been caught doing something, but some time away had cleared her head, and she had the added benefit of seeing Elrond's daughter face to face and having a proper girl-to-girl visit.

But at some point, she stopped talking when she noticed the way Frodo was looking at her.

He had an undeterminable expression, lips curved into a gentle smile, blue eyes softly glowing. His expression was a soft one, and yet there was something intense and revealing about his gaze, so much so that, for the first time in goodness-knows-when, she was unable to meet his gaze.

He felt a small trill when she paused, saw him staring, then ducked her head, glancing at him with a light flush appearing beneath her freckles. "What…what are you looking at me like that for?" She stammered quietly.

"Like what?" he asked softly.

_All moon-struck and starry-eyed; like Aragorn looks at Arwen. Like Faramir's been looking at Eowyn. _But what she ended up saying was, "Almost like Gollum looked at the Ring."

Immediately, she mentally kicked herself. That was the worst possible thing to say, especially this soon after the fact. And sure enough, Frodo's smile dropped a fraction and a shadow passed over his handsome features.

But it only lasted for a moment, and when he saw her wince at her blunder, he gave her a reassuring smile and gently grasped her hands. "It's alright: I know what you meant."

His thumb grazed over the top of her hand. "Perhaps," He chose his words carefully. "All people look a similar way when they gaze upon that which they hold most precious to them." She didn't seem to get his double meaning, so he continued.

"But unlike Sméagol, I've taken my treasure for granted time and time again." He gave her a meaningful look, brushed aside a curl hanging over her ear, and her eyes started to widen with realization.

"I don't deserve this beautiful gem that is most dear to me in this world, but all I want now is to keep it safe from all harm, and let everyone know what it means to me."

Sam's mind was running around in circles, trying to convince herself she was hearing what it sounded like she was hearing, and trying to understand his words, but all thought came to a halt when she realized he was leaning closer. Or was she the one leaning closer?

He moved cautiously, afraid of frightening her off and ruining everything. He saw surprise flicker before her eyes fluttered close. There was no room for misinterpretation. He breathed her name in a voice that was barely audible. Eyes closing, he slid his nose next to hers…

But stopped there, leaving the final decision up to her.

Immediately, Sam closed the hair's-breadth distance and slanted her lips over his own.

Neither could remember a time when so many strong emotions flowed so freely. Silent, miniature fireworks exploding behind their eyelids, stomachs and chests fluttering as if whole flocks of tiny birds were trapped inside, and the single realization settling and illuminating from within:

_I love you. _

They remained for a good few minutes before parting, exchanging shy smiles.

"Samantha Gamgee," Frodo began. "I want to promise you something."

"What is that?" She could barely speak, trying not to break into giddy laughter.

"I promise to never take anything you do for granted ever again." He declared.

A giggle slipped out, and he pressed another soft kiss to her brow.

"I don't know what to say…" She murmured.

"You don't have to say anything." Frodo assured. He gave a sigh. "You are too good to me, though there is no way I will ever be able to repay you for all that you've done."

"Perhaps not." She conceded, then gently grasped his chin and brushed her thumb along his lower lip. "But you're making a fine start."

* * *

><p><em>As you may have guessed, I took elements from both the books and the films. And, yes, Sam actually does throw an apple at a rotten person in the book.<em>


	2. Misericorde

_I decided to make this a three-shot. Reviews are always welcome. _

_Like I've said before, this mostly leans towards the movie-verse, but has several elements from the books. _

* * *

><p>Thankfully, the journey home was peaceful and uneventful. No orcs, goblins, or what-have-yous. Gandalf journeyed with them most of the way, to see that the halflings, who'd already endured much, went unmolested.<p>

Most of the trip, the hobbits found they were too tired to dream when they slept. When dreams _did_ come, however, they were the sort that made you reluctant about ever sleeping again.

Every fight, every wound, every fright and terror was relived with blood curdling clarity, or twisted so it was even worse than remembered.

But they couldn't go without sleep, so they endured, speaking to each other about them and comparing them in the morn.

It didn't escape her notice than Frodo spoke very little of his own night terrors.

* * *

><p>Shortly after crossing the Loudwater, Frodo's scar from the Morgul blade began to pain him. A quick calculation by Gandalf proved that it was the anniversary of his receiving it. The young master of Bag End insisted that he could bear it, and that they continue traveling, albeit slower so his pony wouldn't jostle him so.<p>

It almost hurt his friends just as much, every time he winced or lifted a hand to his shoulder. But neither the wizard nor the two hobbit lads felt the sympathy pains as keenly as Hamfast's daughter.

The rest of the day was spent with the chant going through Sam's head over and over: _Let it go. Let him be. If he needs you he'll say something. He doesn't need you anymore. _

By some great blessing, Frodo was good as gold the next morning, gently teasing the other three shirelings for worrying so. But everyone's mood darkened again when they reached Weathertop itself. The remaining Baggins lowered his head and spurred his mount to trot faster, holding his breath like they all used to as children walking past the graveyard. It couldn't have left their sight fast enough.

Upon reaching Bree, (and noticing that the house of the slimy Bill Ferny looked abandoned, causing Pippin to joke about Sam's apple killing him), Gandalf separated from the halflings, bidding farewell and good luck.

Samantha Gamgee found her heart was thumping harshly as they entered the shire, the familiar smells, sounds, and sights of home hitting her. She scarcely noticed the heads that were turning at the sight of the four young-uns, even the lass, wearing strange garb and armed with small swords.

All that concerned her was what awaited at number three of Bagshot Row.

Frodo was the last to separate from her, as she stopped her pony a few yards away to gather her nerve.

"He'll understand. He always does." Was all he said, then was gone.

* * *

><p>She thought the front door creaked far too loudly, perhaps it needed a proper oiling. She stood dumbly in the doorway.<p>

"'Ello? Who's there?" The gravelly voice, like the crunching of autumn leaves, came in from the kitchen. It was tea time, he could be nowhere else.

She swallowed thickly.

"Speak up, whoever you are; I've got plenty of sardines and toast for two mouths or more if you care to join me." There was a light clatter of plates.

She finally found her voice. "Gaffer?"

Dead silence. Both clatter and voice stopped.

She tried again, in a softer voice, "Papa?"

No one had called him that since her younger sister entered her tweens.

There was a cautious shuffling heading her way, and suddenly, there he was.

He was exactly how she remembered him: Beetle browed, round faced. But the amount of shock in his expression was completely new. He stared at her, dumbstruck, for at least three minutes, as if convinced his mind was playing tricks on him.

"Samantha, Lass?" His voice was barely audible.

Her fingers curled nervously. The words tumbled out before she could heed them. "I'm so sorry. I didn't reckon on being gone for so long, but…. You see… Mister Gand…"

She didn't get to finish. In two strides the old gaffer crossed the entryway and enveloped her in a huge bear hug, leaving her stunned for a moment.

"Oh Lass! My dear girl! I was so sure… we all thought…" His voice wavered.

She quickly returned the hug, her eyes filling with tears and her nose filled with the smell of pipe-weed and soil and salt. "I know. I've missed you so! I've missed everyone!"

She was actually, truly, home.

* * *

><p>After seeing that she had a proper bite to eat and a sip of brandy, Hamfast explained to his daughter that all of the shire heard of the sinister black riders looking for, "Baggins". When Frodo <em>Baggins<em> and three close friends of his disappeared without a trace nigh upon a year ago, everyone assumed the worst. The dreadful Sackville-Bagginses, who'd coveted Bag End from the beginning and resented Frodo for inheriting it, tried to buy it for themselves, but were unable to succeed due to some convoluted legal matters.

Then she told him her story. It was quite amusing to see the old hobbit, leaning forward in rapt attention like a child listening to Mister Bilbo's stories. Every now and again he's shake his head and go, "How about that?" or "Well I never…!"

She couldn't help but notice that his expression darkened slightly when she reached the point of her and Frodo separating from the rest of the group. Though it took her a moment, she understood, and didn't blame him: who wouldn't be leery upon hearing that their daughter had spent several days alone in the wilderness with a young lad, even one as honorable as the young Baggins? He kept his peace, however, and seemed to realize, based on the way she recounted the tale, that nothing untoward had happened between them, especially when she got to the part of the unlikely and unsavory chaperone that was Gollum.

She _did_ leave out some of the nastier details. And she said nothing about their intimate exchange on the evening of Aragorn's coronation.

* * *

><p>Assimilating back into life in the Shire was as hard as she feared. While her father and siblings and siblings-in-law weren't shunning her for leaving without giving notice, some of her other friends and relations acted a bit…odd around her. There was something unsaid, not necessarily rude or judgmental, but she got the sense that they saw she was… <em>different<em> somehow.

That didn't really bother her too much. But the continuing nightmares did. The same ones that haunted her on the journey home returned every other night it seemed. Dreams of Mount Doom, of Gollum's sibilant hissings, of blades and spiders and caves.

There was one that always shook her clear to the soul.

She would see the hunched, pale figure of Gollum, fiddling nervously and greedily with the Ring, making no sound but for heavy breathing. But then he would turn and she would see his face…

And it was not the face of the wretch she despised…

But someone she loved.

The once beautiful and elegant features twisted almost beyond reckoning, the blue eyes shadowed and darkened like some rabid beast, glaring hatefully at her and the lips parting to hiss…

"_It's mine." _

And then she would awaken; drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.

Oh, how close that nightmare had come to being reality.

She would force herself to stop and look around the gloom, seeing that she was back in her old room at Bagshot row, lest she dash over to Bag End and see for herself that its resident was perfectly alright.

My, how she was getting clingy.

_Let it go. Let him be. He doesn't need you anymore._

* * *

><p>Except, she wasn't <em>really<em> certain that he was perfectly alright. Because she hardly ever saw him anymore.

This was understandable. He was probably settling some matters concerning his estate and other such affairs, what with everyone assuming he was dead and all.

She thought nothing of it when she got nary a glimpse of him at the Green Dragon. Or when she said hello to him at the market, only for him to say he couldn't really stay and chat.

A full week went by, and she fretted not.

Then another week. Still she didn't worry.

But then, the four travelers decided to meet together at the Green Dragon for a visit.

He didn't speak a word to her.

He listened when _she_ spoke, he talked to the other two. But to her…

It was then that she realized that something was up.

They'd hardly been alone together since the coronation. But everything had been so busy, and they felt a bit bashful to ask for time alone. But even then, they would exchange knowing looks and smiles, some of which made them both blush like silly, smitten tweens.

Those moments had stopped altogether once their homeward trip began, but she assumed that they would be able to talk things over once they were home and settled.

Now… now he acted as though nothing had happened, as if all she and he had gone through together had never happened. He was even _avoiding_ her.

While she couldn't help but feel a bit hurt, she also tried to be sensible. Perhaps he thought she was sick of his company for the time being. Perhaps he was trying not to butt into any quality time with her family.

He probably had a good reason… she just wanted to know what it was.

* * *

><p>Ultimately, it was her father that set things in motion.<p>

"Mister Frodo's asked me for some plant food: says the rosebushes are looking a bit scraggily."

"Did he, now?" Sam answered, trying not to feel slighted_. _

"Aye." Hamfast began rooting around the cupboard where weed killers and insect repelling elixirs were kept. "Afraid I'm a bit busy this afternoon, though." He spoke above the clinking of the bottles. "Would you mind terribly if I sent you to take it, show 'im how to properly use the stuff?"

Would she mind? Would she _mind? _Eru knew she'd been looking for an opportunity like this!

"Not at all." She stated calmly.

"Good. Ah, found it!" he leaned back holding a round brown bottle. "You remember how to use this?"

"Two small drops into a full watering can."

"Good Lass!" He patted her shoulder and handed the container.

On the way to Bag End, she pondered how to bring up the subject, if at all.

"_Frodo; you know I'm not the confronting sort, and I usually let well enough alone, but I can't help but be wonderin' as to why you don't…" _

_No…. "I don't want to presume, but since that evening at Minas Tirith, I've been to thinking about you and me and…" _

_No, no…. "Hello, Frodo. Remember me? The Lass you grew up with and traipsed all the way to Mordor with you? I think you even kissed me once: said I was what you held most dear to you in the world. Remember __THAT?__" Oh heavens no._

But it was too late: she was at the gate.

She didn't even allow herself to stop, just opened the gate and marched up to the green door. Only then did she pause, clutching the bottle like a lifeline.

_You mustn't make a scene. _She decided. _Just see what happens and go from there. Frodo's a reasonable chap… mostly. _

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hands and lightly rapped her knuckles against the painted wood, then waited.

Nothing.

She knocked a little louder, and got the same response. On a whim, she tried the knob

The door was unlocked. Perhaps he was working on his book, and was so preoccupied he didn't hear her.

Making sure to wipe her feet first, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "Frodo? Hullo?"

More silence greeted her. Surly he wasn't _hiding_ from her, was he?

Further listening alerted her to the sound of a fire in the sitting room, so she went to investigate. Sure enough, there was a modest fire crackling in the hearth, and she was surprised to find the sole occupant propped up in a chair.

She had caught him in mid-nap, his hands folded in his lap, head sagging to the side, eyes tightly closed, slumbering peacefully.

She felt a bit guilty for being hasty and not even considering this development. Oh well; she would just leave and come back in an hour or so. But she barely made it to the hall…

"Don't."

Frightened half out of her wits at the spectral voice she spun back around.

"Can't…see it… Hoy, Pip…?"

She let out a shaky breath when she realized it was only Frodo talking in his sleep, breaking off into nonsensical almost-words. Smiling, she was prepared to turn around yet again, when his expression suddenly changed, his brows furrowing, lips turning down into a grimace. "No… don't!"

_Just walk away. _Sam told herself. _Leave him alone. He doesn't need you to coddle him like a nursemaid, just let him b… _

"No! Give it back!" The volume in his voice rising, making her jump. His hands curled into fists, and he started to shift, almost writhe, in the chair.

_Walk away. Walk away. Walk aw…_

"It's _mine!_ My own!"

Her blood froze as he uttered the very words that haunted her most dreaded nightmare. She could stand it no longer.

Quick as a wink she was standing before him, setting the forgotten bottle on the end table and gently grasping his shoulders, giving him a light shake.

"Hoy, Frodo wake up! You're dreaming!"

No sooner had the words left her mouth when his hands darted up and grabbed her wrists in a grip like a vice, eyes flying open and staring up at her with a wild light.

She held her breath, watching lucidity take over, then confusion.

He gave a slow blink. "Sam?"

She managed a smile. "It's alright Frodo; you just had a scare is all."

He exhaled, releasing her. "I'm sorry. It was dreadful."

"_I'm_ the one who interrupted your nap. I should be the one apologizing."

Remembering her reason for being here, she picked the bottle back up and showed it to him. "My gaffer sent me to deliver the fertilizer you asked for."

He was still a bit tired, rubbing the heel of his hand across his eyes. "Oh… yes. Thank you." He stood and took the bottle.

"Two small drops in a full watering can." She recited.

"Ah." He went into the kitchen, and she followed. Placing the bottle on the table, he immediately began rooting around the cupboards on his knees.

For a while there was no sounds but the clanking of pots and pans. She noticed an air of unease about him, and realized he was looking for distractions. From when she had presented the fertilizer, to when he stepped into the next room, he never looked at her.

"If you're looking for the watering can, you won't find it in here." She offered. "We usually put it in the tool shed."

He paused. "That's right, you do." He said sheepishly, and she had to bite back a smile. He rose again to his feet, still not looking at her. "Would you like something to eat? Or some tea, perhaps?"

This was her moment. He was trapped between hobbit etiquette and his own natural hospitality; both dictating that he _not_ politely usher her out until offering her a bit of nourishment first. "Tea would be perfect."

He filled the pot to boil and set it on the stove, then filling the tea strainer with the leaves and placing it in the teapot. Then they both sat on opposite sides of the table, waiting for the pot to boil.

Frodo kept his eyes moving on various random points in the room, fidgeting like an impatient child, drumming his fingers on the table, crossing and uncrossing his arms, tapping his foot. All the while the tension between them was growing thicker and thicker.

Enough was enough. She decided to get it over with.

"Now that I'm here," She began. "There's actually… something I want to ask you, something that's been bothering me.'

He froze, shoulders tensing. For a moment he stayed that way.

Then, he slowly turned to face her, eyes meeting hers finally, a rueful smile on his features.

"You are wondering why I've been avoiding you."

This caught her completely off guard. She had expected denial, feigned ignorance, but not outright confession, and so bluntly.

"I… ah… yes, exactly."

He heaved a great sigh. "I'm terribly sorry for it. I have reasons; not excuses, but reasons. Though I don't think you'll like them."

"I still want to hear them."

He reached across the table to grasp her hands warmly, taking a steadying breath. "The quest continues to haunt all four of us, does it not?"

"Aye."

"It certainly haunts me. Scarcely an evening goes by when my dreams are not filled with orcs or swords or Gollum. Or with…_Him_."

"'Him'?"

He nodded. "I see and hear him, as clearly as ever, as if he were never truly gone." He closed his eyes, as if shutting out the memories. "The wheel of fire, beckoning me, taunting me. But that is not the worst of it."

She tilted her head to the side as he continued.

"I dream of the Ring, even when I'm awake."

Coldness seeped into her veins. "The Ring…"

"It's destroyed, but I'm beginning to think its affects never will be." He hung his head. "I… I still _want_ it Sam." He admitted shamefully.

"Oh Frodo…!"

"I know what it did. What it almost did. But still I feel its weight, on a finger that's no longer there!" He held up his left hand to demonstrate. "It stays with me like a ghost: the finger and the Ring upon it! I tell myself again and again the horrible things that happened because of it! But still…" he gave a shudder.

"I know." She put forward gently. "I carried the ring for a few hours, remember? Didn't even wear it, on my finger or around my neck. Even _then_ I had trouble giving it up. I felt its pull."

He sighed again. "But you _did_ give it up on your own: I think only Bilbo's done that before."

He looked to her again. "I've been hurt deeply, Sam, in ways the eye cannot perceive. I feel, broken, cracked. Sleep evades me at night, not out of dread or fear of dreams but, my eyes simply refuse to stay closed for many hours. I have my days and nights all mixed up."

"I have to force myself to go outdoors, now. And when I do, sounds such as a sudden shout, the banging of a wooden gate, the clip-clop of a pony's hoofs, or the clink of metal, brings me to sudden panic. I freeze on the spot and have to command my feet to move."

"I think all four of us go through this, or something of the like." She stated. "And I wish we didn't have to. But I still don't see what this has to do with…" She trailed off.

Frodo chewed his lip, pondering his next words with care. "As I've said, I am broken. But the Shire… The Shire is full of folk who aren't. Folk who've never seen a battlefield, or seen the horrors of war and Mordor. I got to thinking on our journey home, and I realized, there are dozens, perhaps _hundreds_ of lads in Hobbiton who don't feel fear in the dark or at the sound of a horse and its rider. Good, loyal, strong lads who won't spend every night awaiting the shadows that follow them, and won't drag anyone else down with them."

At that moment, she understood too well what he was getting at.

He slowly released her hands. "I'm so very sorry, but you must…"

"Now stop it right there!" She shouted.

He looked up in surprise.

"I know what you're going to say, Frodo Baggins," She declared, giving him a scolding look. "And I won't stand for it!"

He blinked. "But, Sam… Oh I _knew_ you would react like this. Please let me finish."

"I will most certainly not!" She said stubbornly.

"Please don't make this more difficult than it already is." He seemed greatly distressed. "I _must_ let you go!"

"I won't be let go of!" She ranted. "You don't _want_ to. You don't _need_ to…"

"I want you to leave." He stated suddenly, face hardening.

She paused. "What?"

"I… I can't really stand you!" he insisted, riding to his feet. "I tried to be a gentlehobbit, but you're being so bloody stubborn!" He was looking at her…

But not into her eyes.

Frodo Baggins was good at many things, but hiding his true emotions was not one of them, those big, expressive blue peepers of his made it nigh impossible.

"I never want to see you again, Samantha Gamgee! I'm sick of the sight of you!" His open palm slammed against the table surface.

She listened. Calmly letting him finish, before she said, "You don't mean that."

The memory of the last time she said that seemed to hit him full force, his mask crumbling with the weight of its shame.

He had an expression very much like the one he'd given her, as he looked up from the ledge in the volcano, when he'd failed utterly and was considering just giving up and letting himself fall. "This time, you truly can't help me anymore. I will only burden you." He whispered. "That is why I'm doing this."

"I know." She murmured. "But I can at least _try_."

She stood and stepped toward him, but he only stepped back, though his resolve was clearly hanging by a thread.

"You deserve far better." He insisted, "You deserve someone who is whole. Someone who didn't fail all of Middle Earth for his own greed." These words were spoken as if they pained him.

"I don't _want_ anyone else. I never could. And I am not whole either, not without _you._"

That was the final straw. His face crumpled as if he was going to weep.

"Oh _Sam_…!"

He moved toward her, arms open, and she met him halfway.

He pressed her to him, burying his face into her shoulder, and she firmly squeezed her arms around his middle. They held each other so tightly they could scarcely breathe.

"I know…" She bit her lip to halt the tears. "I know you don't need me anymore, but _I_ need _you!_"

He gave a shaky laugh that was also a sob.

"I have nothing… _nothing!" _Hemanaged. "I'm just a hollow shell."

"You are not." She insisted, whispering in his ear. "There is still so much left in you. I see it."

He gently braced his hand between her shoulder blades.

"I love you."

The words pierced her, and spread in wondrous golden warmth and completion.

"I love you too."

Suddenly he leaned back, held her face gently with both hands and, without further ado, kissed her right solidly on the mouth.

The first one since the coronation. Definitely more substantial, more desperate, setting free all the emotions he'd kept at bay for the last couple months. As if he'd been wanting to so very badly for a long time.

She returned it, quite certain their feet were no longer touching the ground.

Too soon, he parted, but only enough to rest his forehead against hers.

"There is _nothing_ I can say or do to change your mind?" He queried in hushed tones.

"No, nothing." She beamed. _Certainly not after a kiss like_ that.

He thought this over, turning her words over in his head. "Then, can I ask a terribly huge favor of you?"

"Of course."

"Marry me?"

She gave a start, leaning back. "What?! M-marry…?" This was a turn for the unexpected if ever there was one. She was getting emotional whiplash.

He mistook her reaction. "I'm sorry! It's too soon to ask such things!"

"N-no." She assured him "Not too soon, by any means. Just… surprised me, is all."

He locked his gaze with hers, smiling.

"I've thought about this for quite some time." He admitted. "I've considered asking you since Minas Tirith."

"I… oh heavens, everyone will talk." She rambled in an attempt to gather her thoughts. "My Gaffer will be tickled pink. But not everyone will like it: a simple Gamgee marrying into the Baggins family. I can't imagine what Lobelia Sa…"

"Since when did we care what everyone else thought?" Frodo demanded. "Especially the Sackville-Bagginses? Your family will approve, as will our dearest friends, that's what really matters."

He shook his head. "No; stop thinking about anyone else, stop thinking of me, just this once. What do _you_ want? What do _you_ need?"

She did. She pondered.

She looked at him, she thought of what life would be like, knowing she'd see him every morning and every evening, at the least. She thought about waking beside him every morning, not a few feet away on the cold hard ground, but just inches separating them, if anything, wrapped in warm blankets. She thought about the two of them cooking each other's favorite foods, spending quiet evenings reading by the fire. She thought about being there at hand whenever he was injured or ill, and him doing the same. She thought about having children with dark curls and wide, blue eyes.

There was not a more beautiful or loving being in all Middle Earth than Frodo Baggins.

There was no question about it.

"Of course!"

* * *

><p><em>Pippin's joke about the apple was also from the book, I couldn't resist mentioning it.<em>


	3. Vanimelda

_Finally the last one! _

_Sorry it's so long, and so sad. But it ends with hope._

* * *

><p>She was done. Tired.<p>

She no longer cared if she lived or died.

There was no fear, no sorrow, no anger. Just exhaustion that went past her bones and to her soul.

Perhaps it would've been different….

Perhaps if He was here…

But he wasn't. He was nowhere she could follow. Not dead, but…

What do you do when the only one you've ever loved, or ever _could_ love, with every fibre of your being, every particle of your soul, no longer belongs to this world? When they've ascended beyond anything you've expected, practically one of the Valar.

Samantha Baggins was still looking for the answer.

* * *

><p>It had been almost four years since she agreed to be the wife of the last Ring Bearer. At the time, and for long afterwards, she was convinced it was the wisest decision she'd ever made.<p>

She remembered it clearly now, as if it had happened only a fortnight hence, whilst at the same time ages ago. The Party Tree strung with bright colors and the prettiest, largest spring blooms they could find. She could smell the blossoms in her hair and in her bouquet, hear the rustle of the gown her sisters and dear friends worked together on for a month.

She could see Frodo, looking dashing as ever in his new vest her sister Marigold had sewn for him. She could see his eyes, his beautiful eyes, dancing with love and joy and countless other emotions.

By many accounts, it seemed like an ordinary hobbit wedding, were it not for some of the distinctly non-hobbit guests. She laughed for many a day afterwards when she recalled the surprise of their guests when Gandalf, a Sindarin elf, a dwarf, and a human king and Elvin queen seated themselves. Many grew even more agog when Merry and Pippin ran up to all of them and embraced them enthusiastically, even the dignified monarchs smiling and laughing in delight.

Many were surprised at how different Gandalf looked; the wizard who had been seen in the shire for countless generations and remained unchanged for just as long was suddenly different both in dress and manner, there was something very awe-inspiring about him now. But, at his core, they soon learned, he was still very much the same. They discovered this when, upon nightfall, he disappeared with a twinkle in his eye and returned arms laden with his beloved fireworks, much to the delight of the Shire children.

But she did not focus on this; she focused on her new husband; on the fact she was now completely, utterly his, and vice versa.

And my, what a wonderful time was had. Merry and Pippin both insisted on dancing with the bride several times, and entertained the others with their duets when they'd had a bit more drink than was necessary. She still smiled with affection and amusement remembering that.

Their non-hobbit friends had all given their blessings in the manner fitting their races: Aragorn spoke of how well much happiness was earned by them both, Arwen gave both bride and groom a light kiss on the tops of their heads. Legolas made a brief, impromptu song about the two and their deeds, singing it in his liltingly rich voice. Gimli said that he wished them both much happiness and prosperity and good health in the years to come. He also muttered something to Frodo that Sam couldn't quite catch, but she could make a good guess from the dwarf's bellowing laughter when he finished and the way her husband's face turned red as Farmer Maggot's prize tomatoes.

She'd expected some coarse but good-natured jokes and innuendos on behalf of the Gruesome Twosome, yet Merry and Pippin behaved themselves admirably in this regard, at least until the couple were perched on the cart ready to head to their shared home and waving goodbye to everyone, and the two kept winking and grinning mischievously at Frodo, causing the latter to turn red again and frown at them, making a shooing gesture with his hand. Sam had only laughed at the three of them.

* * *

><p>She wasn't exaggerating when she considered the next two and a half years to be the happiest in their lives, but it would be lying to say that they were easy. Of course, two flawed beings, still healing from the invisible wounds of war, entering a marriage meant that it wasn't perfect, at least by the standard definition of perfection, but they were near to her own.<p>

Everything: both pros and cons, about marrying made their two lives all the sweeter, and made them both stronger, better people.

The things she had pictured the day he proposed turned out to be better than she anticipated. They spent a great deal of time together, but also had plenty of time to themselves or with loved ones. They enjoyed cooking together every evening and finishing it off by sitting together before the fireplace reading. And there was something to be said about just sleeping with your beloved's warm self curled around you as you drift off to the sound of their heartbeat.

The cons also turned out to be more than she anticipated. This had been a time of healing. The War was revisited in their dreams, but they would always awaken wrapped in the arms of the other, soothing each other with songs and reminders of their childhood joys, when everything was simpler.

In Sam's mind, there were only four things that truly marred this time and kept it from being perfect. The memories of the War were one, as Frodo was the most affected out of the four travelers, and the lingering effects of the Ring would not give him any lasting peace of mind or soul. He would often have flash-backs, his face turning ashen and eyes bulging as his mind tormented him with memories. While Sam's nightmares soon lessened, his hardly did, and she spent many nights reminding him where, and when he was; shutting out the demons with her kisses and embraces and tender words.

Another was his health. As if feeling pain in his old wound every sixth of October wasn't enough, Frodo's bodily health seemed to have greatly weakened from the quest. It seemed like once every month he was coming down with a fever or chill or some such thing: if someone all the way in Needlehole so much as sneezed, he would be forced to spend the rest of the weekend in bed with a head cold. If he spent even a minute out in the rain he would be sure to have a bad cough for a few days.

He felt terrible for causing Sam so much trouble and worry during his frequent maladies, so was quick to return the favor in the rare times when the strong Gamgee constitution wasn't enough to ward off sickness. Even having a scratchy throat meant he would usher her to bed and not let her out until he determined that she was fit as a fiddle.

She strongly suspected he was looking for an excuse to spoil her, to keep her off her feet for a day or so. He would bring her hot tea and soup or whatever she wanted to eat and finish whatever chores she normally did without complaining.

Another strong mar was that, in all those thirty-odd months, Sam never conceived. She would begin each month hopefully, only for said hope to drop like a stone once her course started.

This saddened them greatly; they'd both wanted children their whole lives, even before they knew whom they wanted to marry, and Samantha believed that the birth and raising of a little one would bring, among many other countless blessings, the distraction and healing Frodo needed.

There was no shortage of theories as to why this was so, but her husband became convinced that the problem lay in himself.

His reasoning being that it _clearly_ wasn't with Sam: She was strong, full of health, her monthly cycle went practically like clockwork, and she ate and drank all the right things. Many womenfolk with knowledge of this sort of thing affirmed that she bore all the hallmarks of a fertile woman.

So, by deduction, Frodo concluded that he was, quite simply, unable to sire children. Perhaps he'd never been able to, or it was a lesser known side-effect of carrying the Ring for several months or one of his unusual injuries (the Witch King's blade, Shelob's venom, or a combination).

* * *

><p>The final mar was this lingering thought, or feeling, deep in the marrow of their bones, that Frodo was on borrowed time.<p>

The War had made the four hobbits wiser, that was clear, and it had made them somehow older: far older than years could give them, older than the oldest grandfather living in the shire.

It had made Frodo both stronger and weaker.

As the months passed, the other three recovered from the lingering effects of battle and fear, but the Ring Bearer seemed to fade slowly before their eyes.

Every time Sam tried to think of him in the distant future, she was met with a wall in her mind, where she could neither see nor feel him.

It frightened her. Perhaps one of these days, he would get carried away by a fever, or he would lie down and simply stop breathing.

It seemed possible. Anything was possible.

But then, so was it possible that he would recover yet.

She clung on to this thought with tenacity. He _would_ live for many years, and die of ripe old age; she would see to it.

So life went on. The four travelers lived their lives: Merry courted and then married Fatty Bolger's sister, Estella: a lovely and understanding lass. Pippin received increased tutelage for his future role as Thain. Sam continued to do what she loved best; tending the garden of Bag End (Frodo made it very clear from the beginning that it was now to be considered _her_ garden.), only she was sure to always leave a little bit of kingsfoil growing nowadays, and her husband continued writing their adventure in the Red Book of Westmarch.

Upon her request, he also taught Sam a bit of the Elfish language, both in speaking and writing. He was a very patient teacher, like Bilbo had been, and she was soon able to understand many words of the beautiful language when it was spoken and to read it on paper, although she had more trouble speaking it herself (it always came out sounding crude on her voice), nor could she write it properly.

He would often speak it to her, especially during their more intimate moments, his low, silken voice wrapping around her along with his arms as he trailed his lips over her brow and along her jaw. Murmuring _My mir, my insil… my jewel, my flower… _

At times like this, she could forget the world outside, forget time itself.

But the unnamed fear remained on the outskirts, like a shadow.

* * *

><p>On the third year since their return, a mysterious message appeared in their mail box that was clearly not of Shire stationary. It was a sealed scroll rather than in an envelope, and the wax seal had a harp on it: a rather un-hobbit instrument.<p>

They unrolled it and the page was written in elvish.

They read it together, then looked to each other gravely.

They alerted Pippin and Merry. They gave her family notice that they would be traveling to visit some friends outside of the Shire, then packed.

* * *

><p>Gandalf met them at the shire, driving a covered wagon, wherein lay Bilbo himself, and Sam couldn't help but feel shock when she saw him.<p>

"It's a mighty good stroke of luck they're all leaving now, and not a moment later." Merry observed, and the others agreed.

In just four years, he had aged what many would in twenty.

The old hobbit did not seem to be all there, mind wise: not crazed, but reaching a rather peaceful scattering that resembled senility, and yet it seemed unfair to refer to it as such.

He reacted little when his nephew told him that he'd married Sam, except for a smile and to say. "Oh, that's lovely." As if someone had merely told him that it wasn't going to rain today.

She and Frodo were the ones to help Bilbo out of the wagon, and gently guide him down the ruined steps toward the docks of the Grey Havens.

Seeing the faces of those gathered, the ancient hobbit, suddenly straightened, bearing less weight on the two younger ones and more on his feet, his wrinkled face growing clear as he said, "I think I'm quite ready for another adventure."

She felt a bittersweet smile cross her face, as he hobbled to Elrond and Galadriel, the former guiding his old friend aboard.

The Queen of Lothlorien gave the others one more smile, her gaze on Sam lingering, growing sad and heavy, penetrating, yet her smile never wavering, holding a look of understanding that made the she-hobbit fidget.

Gandalf bade his farewells to the four halflings, who struggled to rein their tears, yet glad the wizard was finally rewarded for his numerous works for Middle Earth.

But then, Gandalf turned to Frodo with a solemn look.

"Frodo, it is time."

He froze. The other three halflings looked at him in puzzlement. Time for what?

She turned to Frodo looking for an explanation. His eyes held an apology for something not yet done or said, holding the weight of his exhaustion.

He finally spoke. "We set out to save the Shire Sam, and it has been saved," he locked his gaze sadly with hers. "But not for me."

She felt her heart sink like a stone into her stomach. The breath was forced out of her lungs like a blow to the chest. _No_…

She choked, her view of his face blurred with tears. "You don't mean that! You can't leave!"

Instead of refuting, or justifying, he simply lifted the Red Book from its hiding place. "These last pages are for you Sam." He said softly as he handed it to her.

She clutched the tome like it was a shield, covering her heart. She scrambled for reason. "But… I thought you would enjoy the Shire for years and years!"

His gaze filled with anguish, and not for the first time she was aware of how frail, how seemingly translucent he was.

"Do you truly think I want to leave?" His voice remained steady, yet held the sorrow showing on his face. "That I want to leave _you_?"

A shuddering sob escaped her, and then she was enveloped in his arms.

He said, "Sam, all of Middle Earth couldn't hold my love for you! If I could… I would stay."

He braced his gentle hands on her back, like he had the day he proposed. "But you must understand, there is no other way. I will wither away right before your eyes if I stay; there is no peace for me in mortal lands."

She should have known, should have seen… She had been a fool to assume otherwise.

The book dropped to the ground as she returned his embrace; tears falling unchecked, engraving the memory of his warmth in her heart.

She wanted to be selfish, to say, _No, You can find healing here! I won't let you go! How could you break me thus?! _

But, deep within, she knew he was right. Only death could be found for him now in Middle Earth.

He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her mouth, then touched his forehead to hers, and they stayed that way for several minutes, savoring each other's presence one last time.

Then he said, in a voice so low only she could hear. "It's not forever, _vanimelda._"

She lifted her eyes to his. "You bore the Ring too." He continued.

_Didn't I? _

And then, she got it.

_All Ring Bearers_… The clouds seemed to part, letting a shaft of sunlight touch her soul.

"You mean… I…?" She was afraid to dare hope.

He leaned back with an encouraging smile, tracing a finger along her brow. "One day, I don't know when, you will join us."

The storm in her heart cleared. One seed of hope.

_It's not forever._

* * *

><p>She had to return home to Bag End, alone. The smial felt so great and empty without him.<p>

She explained to her family what happened, but she was not sure they truly understood, though they knew the truth, which was a very good thing, because it escaped no one's notice that she had returned without her husband, and the rumors immediately began to flow like melting snow: The other Baggins had disappeared, it was too juicy to ignore.

Some wondered if he'd gone insane, and either ran off or was left somewhere by his wife and companions_. ("Didn't I tell you he was cracked or at least cracking?" "Can't say I'm too surprised, what with mixing the oddities of the Tooks and the Bradybucks, and leaving it in the influence of Bilbo.") _

Some believed his wanderlust had finally gotten the better of him and he just abandoned the three and his life and responsibilities without giving a care.

But then, many decided he'd died, in some far off place. _("He did not look at all well when I saw him last, and always in bed with some ailment." "Well, that's what you get from gallivanting around in foreign parts too often.") _Though she felt bad for it, Sam preferred they believed this instead of the notion that he'd gone mad or shirked his loved ones.

The Sackville-Bagginses raised an even bigger stink than before: not only deprived of Bag End a second time, but it had gone to the baseborn daughter of a gardener, and they made it no secret that they were furious.

He'd left her every worldly possession, except the clothes he'd been wearing.

But there was one, final gift that he himself was unaware of.

* * *

><p>At first she noticed nothing. While his assurance that she would one day join him had lifted her spirits considerably and made his absence more bearable, she still felt heaviness of heart that even she couldn't shake off.<p>

There was nothing she couldn't attribute to this sadness, or to the rigors of travel: not the uneasiness frequently felt in her belly, not the lack of appeal her favored foods started to take, or the light aches in her head and lower back, nor her missed monthly, nor the tiredness.

But, as the days turned into weeks, she noticed other odd signs. While her wits seemed to have dulled, her other senses sharpened, particularly taste and smell. Hunger and queasiness always came as a pair. She was needing to empty her bladder more frequently.

She had seen all these things before, in others. A thought sprouted in her mind, and overwhelmed her with emotions of joy and fear, love and sadness.

But it was not until she missed her monthly a second time that she accepted the bittersweet revelation.

The child they'd given up on was coming…

….And Frodo would know nothing about it.

This simple fact carried such great and heavy sorrow that she couldn't bear life itself, and found it to be such a burden to leave the smial, or sometimes even her bed.

She knew it was pathetic, pining away like those foolish lovers in those fairytales, but couldn't find it in herself to care about that.

She honestly could not remember a darker time in her life, when the sun seemed so pale and her light so thin in the Shire.

Why was life so cruel? Why must Frodo go through all that he had and never heal from the process? Why must the only lad she ever loved be forced to leave her and all he loved? Why must their only child come so late?

If only it could've been conceived a week or two earlier. If only there would've been time to tell him. If he'd known, perhaps he wouldn't need to have left. Or at the very least, he would've _known_ of its existence.

The Lady Galadriel might've understood; she had children of her own, or at least one. Perhaps…

But then Sam's mind harkened back to the last time she saw the Lady of Lorien.

She remembered the sad smile, the understanding sympathy in the elf's gaze.

Was it possible… that she had _known?_

This notion gave her a start.

Elves had powers beyond mortal imagination, and The Lady was more powerful than the rest. Could she have sensed something that day; noticed the life Sam carried before the first signs manifested themselves?

And if she knew, then surely she would tell Frodo.

And that thought changed everything.

Her spirits rose again, she chided herself for letting things get so glum for such a thing couldn't be good for the baby.

The baby… Oh heavens above!

She was going to be a mother.

* * *

><p>The first person she told was her gaffer, of course, who showed the proper amount of joy for having a new grandchild on the way, and more besides.<p>

Merry and Pippin were alerted next; the two who had become like brothers to her. She did not tell them before her actual siblings because she loved them more or less, but because they had gone through as much as she had, or nearly so, and she felt like they would understand more what emotions she was going through. They would know how much sympathy, how much happiness, they would be required to show in the circumstances.

They laughed with joy, mingled with tears, when Sam broke the news, and the three of them held each other as they smiled and wept. She immediately knew she'd made the right choice.

"We'll be here for you Sam." Merry promised. "Right where you need us."

"Aye." Pippin nodded. "The whole way; if ever you need anything, we'll be at your side quick as a wink."

* * *

><p>She conveyed her joyous news to their friends outside the Shire via letters, and was soon inundated with not only answers but gifts.<p>

From Aragorn she received sheets of music, lullabies from every free race in Middle Earth: Dwarvish, Elfin, Rohirric, and from Gondor to name a few, all translated into the common tongue.

Queen Arwen sent her a little blanket that she'd woven herself with elfish cunning, softer than lamb's wool, that shimmered green and silver like dew laden clover, with little golden elanor blossoms embroidered in the corners. It was promised to keep a little one warm in the coldest nights, but not overheat in the summer.

Eowyn and her brother EomerKing gave her a traditional talisman given to the royal children of Rohan, which was an amber bead on a cord of braided white horsehair.

Faramir's gift was several books bound in leather and illuminated in gilt and bright pigments for the child's future education, books on the history of Middle Earth and all her races, on biology and many more things that would make an adventurous child look forward to his or her lessons.

Legolas mailed a flask of some herbal mixture that expectant mothers in Thranduil's kingdom drank to prevent miscarriages and stillbirths, evils that even elves weren't safe from.

But dear Gimli took the cake, and the candles too, by mailing her a whole chest of toys those dwarves were so famous for, and she was certain there was one for each child in Hobbiton.

All their gifts and notes, however simple or complex, held the same meaning: their immense and immeasurable gratitude to her and Frodo.

All of these, along with the support of her father and the duo, gave her the strength to go through everything she did the next several months, such as the overwhelming pity and whispered gossip that fallowed her whenever she appeared in public, especially when the news of her condition went out.

Let the other hobbits talk, she would pay them no heed.

Time went past, and all went well. Her belly soon grew and rounded like a ripening fruit, and thanks to the Shire folk, Bag End was soon filled to the rafters with baby clothes, cradles, toys, layette, etc. She ended up putting a great deal in storage to give away much _much_ later, once Merry and Pippin started having children with their wives, and to her siblings who as of yet had no children of their own.

She never allowed herself to become depressed again, and yet the happiness of each milestone was still tinged with sad wistfulness, for Frodo wasn't there to experience them with her. He wasn't there to place his hands over the spot on her middle that first began to stick out, firm and hollow as a shield. He wasn't there when she felt the first quickening and flutterings of movement, and he wasn't there when it began to respond to the voices of those that came around most often.

He wasn't there to speak, and for him or her to learn his beautiful voice and grow to love it.

She wasn't afraid when the pains came, in early summer after she had gotten so big she could scarcely stand on her own two feet.

She was surprised at how little fear she felt; only excitement and nervous anticipation.

She went to alert her gaffer, so he in turn would alert her sisters and her dear friend Rosie Cotton who would all come and help her.

Hour after hour passed by. The twinge around her middle that at first was like the tightening of a belt spread and grew stronger. The pain grew and spread roots clear through to her back and down to her thighs. And still she felt no fear.

Waves wracked her frame, powerful eruptions; the smiles of her friend and kinswomen were genuine and encouraging, "You are doing marvelously!" they said. "All is going as it should." And she knew they meant it sincerely.

But as time went on, her energy waned. Two hours became five, five became eight, and on it went.

Instead of fear, she felt exhaustion. How could it have been only thirteen hours before they said she could finally push? It was ages! Lifetimes! How could she endure?

But still they all smiled, no worry hidden in their faces. "It's normal Sam dear; the first baby takes many hours."

She'd known that, of course. But to experience it…

* * *

><p>The sun was probably rising outside Bag End, she didn't know. She had been bearing down for eternity, the child pressing and retreating every time she relaxed. She'd lied on her back, knelt, squatted on the birthing stool, and it felt like she was no closer than she had been hours ago.<p>

In her exhaustion, she stopped caring what happened to herself. She was now beyond fearing for anything, let alone her own life.

What was the use? He wasn't waiting outside. He wasn't chomping at the bit, waiting for the first sign…

The clouds she'd kept at bay several months back finally returned, only they brought apathy instead of sadness, numbness.

"How…" She paused, laboring for breath. "How long…?"

"Just a little over an hour, I believe." Her older sister May stroked her hair.

Sam shook her head. "I don't… think I can…"

"Don't you dare say you can't do this!" Marigold interjected. "You of all lasses!"

She couldn't even find the energy to lift her head, her chin falling to her collar. "But I can't… I'm so _tired_…" She felt as though all her bones and muscles had been pounded to mulch by a cave troll. The water, light porridge, and strengthening broth they'd fed her at various points last evening had all been coughed back up. She was empty, wrung out.

"You," Marigold stated. "Once carried your future husband on your shoulders, up a burning mountainside! You told me so! How can _you_ not do what woman folk; hobbit, dwarf, elf, and human, have been doing since the beginning of time?"

"I just want it to come out safely, in one piece and healthy." Sam panted. "Then… just let me die."

Rosie shook her head, pressing a wet cloth to her forehead. "You're not going to die; there is nothing to be concerned about as of now." She told Sam gently.

Before she could argue, there was a shift within her, and Sam gave a hoarse cry.

May lifted her gown. "Oh! I think I see something!"

"What?" Marigold gasped. "The head?"

"I believe… yes! It is!"

And like that, the clouds of apathy rolled away.

She was moved once more from the bed to the stool, the light jostling advancing the pressure down further. "_Ungh!_" Sam rolled her head back.

Strength and determination flowed through her body, filling her core and limbs.

"C'mon, Love," May encouraged her sister. "You can do it! This little one's tired of waiting!"

The ligaments of her body were stretching and she cried. Not from pain, not from fear, but from the overwhelming intensity of the sensations.

"Easy now," May said gently. "You aren't in battle, don't force it, and don't rush it. Just let it come at his or her own timing."

She yelled. She hollered, she bellowed. With each shout, she released a measure of her sorrow, her anger, frustration, and every heavy emotion she'd held these last nine months.

She was in a time outside of time. She was reliving every step on their journey. Every rock, every obstacle….

_I'm glad to be with you Sam Gamgee, here at the end of all things. _

And then a part of her was being torn away, sliding with a hot splash.

Then a sputter and a squawk.

"Oh!" Rosie exclaimed as Sam went limp.

There was a sharp, gurgling cry. "That's a good lad!" May proclaimed.

Samantha lifted her head, eyes widening in wonder at the little blue thing that wiggled in protest as her older sister gently cleaned him off.

"It's a boy?" She spoke softly.

"Aye." Marigold piped. "A strapping son to carry on the Baggins name!"

Immediately she sat up stretching her arms out. "Let me hold him….please!" She implored.

May complied, gently wrapping the infant in the soft towel and placing him in Sam's arms.

He was as light as a kitten, his skin turning purple then pink as the life-giving air flowed in and out of his lungs and his blood flowed.

HE squinted up at his mother, still unhappy, telling her of his troubles on his hoarse cry.

"Oh… My son…" She tested the word on her tongue, eyes brimming with tears. A smile spread over her face. _My baby… my boy… _

The cries died down, the baby's eyes opening wider and the little furrow on his forehead smoothed out. He had the ruddy Gamgee health, but he wasn't really bigger than the average newborn. His little head was already covered with thick dark hair that formed a single curl in his nape.

His eyes fixed on her face. Their color was the same russet brown as hers, but their prominent size, and the intensity of their gaze could only come from one person.

_Frodo; you should see him! I can see both of us in him! I can see you, my love… _

She was filled with only joy, with love. It washed over her and spilled from her eyes and bubbled up from her throat as both a laugh and a sob.

"Wait, what's this?" Marigold wiped the child's left shoulder clean and pointed.

Therein was a mark; white and shaped like a multipoint star.

"It looks like a scar." Rosie commented.

And it did. Or a more subdued replica of one Sam had seen on another.

May looked to her. "Was it the left one, you said?"

"Aye." She kissed the top of her son's head.

She leaned back, regarding the tiny, solemn face.

"Bilbo Hamfast Baggins, I'll call you." She murmured softly, smiling. "And, one day, I'll tell you the story behind your mark. You'll be curious, I'd wager."

One tiny, dimpled hand reached in the vague direction of her face, and she lifted it to her lips. "But firstly, I shall tell you all about your father, and how he saved Middle Earth."

* * *

><p>The imaged clouded, becoming grey before disappearing entirely.<p>

He stumbled backwards, breathing heavily, heart racing, and he noticed the wet tracks left down his face.

The images he'd seen, the words and sounds he'd heard...

How could he have doubted Galadriel? Even for a moment?

He thought his heart would explode with all the love he held for his wife and son; the joy, the awe.

Slowly his gaze lifted until it met the Elven queen's, her serene smile echoing the sentiments he felt.

"They are both beautiful." She murmured.

"Yes.." His voice was little more than a whisper as he beamed in the new knowledge brought to him by her mirror. "They are."

* * *

><p><em>Vanimelda: Beautiful and beloved, the highest prais of beauty. <em>

_Marry Belated Christmas and Happy Hollidays!_


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